Written for the Clorith drabble challenge that TinaK.Number1 and me are doing.
Drabble #7: Hands
Summary: He would never be able to rid the blood that stained his hands.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Characters and places belong to SquareEnix
He could not understand what had gone wrong. What did he do to deserve this?
He had travelled so far, day and night to find her, make sure she was safe and for one minute, one stupid minute, he allowed himself to hope even though he knew that all hope he had ever had before was always crushed straight away.
This was no different.
For almost as soon as he had stepped before her, taking in her clasped hands that indicated she was in prayer, he had given in to Sephiroth and unsheathed his sword, holding it above her and ready to kill.
If it were not for his friends, his hands would have been the ones to kill her. Not that it made it better that Sephiroth had done it.
No, the pain would never fade from his heart. He would never forget the sneer that Sephiroth directed his way as he pulled the blade from her helpless form. He would never forget the way the white materia clattered against the stone floors or the way she fell into his arms, his hands clutching desperately to her dying form.
She lay for little more than ten seconds, her laboured breathing making his heart squeeze painfully because he knew, despite his reassurances to her that there was nothing he could do. The blade had cut to deep. Now, his hands were stained with her blood as they held the most delicate and perfect creature that the Planet had ever made. It just wasn't fair. What had she done to deserve it? Had they just played into Sephiroth and Jenova's hands all along?
When he placed her on the waters of the lake outside the capital, he clasped her hands together, hating the feel of how cold they were against his warm ones. This was not right. He was the cold one and she was the warm one, she was never meant to be cold. She was never meant to be dead.
He watched her sink, his heart going with her and he had to look away for he could not stand to watch her disappear forever. It would be easier not to look.
As he walked away, leading the group on, he knew he would never be able to clear the stain of blood on his hands.